Haven
by rubygoddess
Summary: Takes place after "Sleeper", "Apocalypse Nowish" on BtVS, AtS, respectively. The Summers household has gained two new residents: one brooding teenager exiled from LA and one wacked-out, bleached-blond but soulful vamp. B/S, D/C, R/R please!
1. Prologue: Exiled From the City of Angels

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Disclaimer: I do not own of the characters of BtVS or AtS. This all just emulation, baby. 

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Author's Note: Set after "Apocalypse, Nowish" on AtS and "Sleeper" on BtVS. If you don't watch _Angel_, some event references might be confusing. Since this was done out of a writer's block I had when trying to update my other story "Fortunate Son" I don't know if I'll continue this since I have an affinity for _starting_ fics and not continuing them, but if I get enough reviews, I may consider continuing this. Also, I don't have a beta reader. I'm far too lazy to deal with a beta. So some slight grammatical errors are inevitable. It shouldn't damage the story that much, though 

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Summary: Fed up, Angel sends Conner to Sunnydale to reside with one of the people he trusts the most: Buffy. Unfortunately, _casa Summers _is already bustling with it's own problems, the largest one being a soulful but wacked-out houseguest named Spike. Put the frazzled slayer, the brooding son of her former lover, the hallucinating vampire pawn of the Big Bad and all the other colorful locals of Sunnydale into one house and what do you get? Chaos is not a large enough word. 

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Rating: PG-13 for language and adult situations.

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Pairings: B/S, D/C

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Prologue: Exiled From the City of Angels

Downtown Los Angeles was in ruins, but the rain of fire ceased; all that remained of the shower were smoking bits of earth where the flickering meteor-like streamers hit. The air was thick with the wailing noise of the people and sirens. But Angel didn't notice any of it. All his yellow-glinted eyes could see was the bed in front of him where two writhing bodies grasped each other with dancer-like movements. The all-consuming apocalypse had nothing on him; the rage he felt inside could turn millions of cities asunder. He made a furtive step towards the two lovers and felt his face turn hard and bumpy as he continued to watch them move together, sighing small little moans to each other. But he willed his demon visage down and roughly threw a charred head at them.

They both looked up when they heard the thud upon the floor and stared down at head, barely indistinguishable from all its burns. One thing was clearly noticeable, though. Atop the demon's decapitated head were horns. This was the end to the end that they feared. 

Cordelia was the first to speak. She gathered the crumpled sheets around herself futilely, as if to cover up what she had done. "Oh God. Angel."

He stared at her, clenching his teeth. "It's over. The world's not ending," was all he said.

Conner looked up at his father and it was the first time Angel ever saw his son truly scared. Almost instinctively, he edged away from Cordelia in the bed. "How?"

Angel's voice was unrelentingly stony. "Just something I remembered from Sunnydale. Remember the Judge, Cordy?"

Stiffly, she nodded. But the Judge was the last thing on everybody's mind and they all knew it.

"Yeah, well it was the same deal. Rocket launcher, no weapons forged kind of thing. I thought of it, Wesley found it. And here you were all worried." He sounded less than reassuring. 

Cordelia saw the yellow fire behind his eyes and knew what was coming. She got up and raised a passive hand. "Angel, before you start, wait, I can explain------"

"Cordy, can you leave us alone? I want to speak to my son now."

"Please, Angel," she implored him. "Listen to what I have to say first-----"

"I said leave!" 

She had never heard him so angry. Casting an anxious glance at Conner, she wrapped the sheets around herself tighter and left the room. Conner sat upright and tried to feign sanctimonious indifference, but Angel could smell the fear on him. Sighing, Angel sat on the bed and stared at his son blankly. 

"We didn't mean for it to happen----" Conner started. 

His father raised an eyebrow. "_We_?" He said the word like it was a barb to his tongue.

"You can't say you're angry about this," he replied with a rebellious scowl. "Cordelia said she didn't want to be with you. She wanted to be with me. She made her choice."

Angel was silent, but nodded his head quietly. After a few moments, he finally spoke. "I want you gone Conner."

Conner had already put on his clothes and marched around the room self-righteously. "No. No, you can't make me."

"Can't make you? I'm your _father_."

"Like hell you are! You're just some freak who's not even alive!"

"And you're my son who dumped me in the ocean for three months." He sighed. "I love you Conner. You're my son. I'll always love you. But having you here is destroying yourself and destroying me. I want you out of my home, out of my city."

"Just because she wanted to be with me instead of you----"

"Conner." He didn't alter in severity or intonation. He looked up at Conner and his son could tell he was as serious as a heart attack. "I want you gone," he repeated. 

"I won't go . . . You can't make me leave. I'm eighteen. That means I'm an adult in this world. I can take care of myself."

"And how have you been taking care of yourself, Conner? Holing yourself in abandoned buildings or shelters? Creeping around Los Angeles, coming out only to slay at night? That's no kind of life."

"But it's _my_ life!"

"You need family. The kind that obviously, I can't provide."

"And where would you expect me to go?" he challenged.

Angel thought for a second. "Somewhere where you would have someone."

"I have people _here._ I don't want to leave."

"You should," a soft voice pierced the tension in the room, and Conner turned to Cordelia, who stood in the door looking shrunken and white. "Your father's right." 

Conner stared at her, alarmed. "What?"

Still clutching the sheets like a Grecian dress, she neared Conner seriously. "It's better this way, baby. Things have suddenly gotten a lot more confusing. I thought I knew what I was doing, but I realized this was a mistake. I didn't want it to happen this way. I'm so sorry."

Conner felt lost and stung and lonely, the way he had the moment he first stepped out of the portal from Quartoth. "Don't say that-----"

"She said it," Angel replied firmly. Cordy began to cry, but Angel tried to reach for Conner's shoulder. He shook him off with fury. 

"Don't _touch_ me," he spat. He turned back to Cordelia, his heart visibly shattered. "You really want me to leave?"

Cordelia hesitated as tears streamed down her face. With one kiss and one night, her life had suddenly gotten a lot messier. Maybe she was being selfish in thinking that having him gone would suddenly clean it up, but she still said it. "Yes." 

He stared at her as if she had smacked him across the face. But he would never refuse to oblige her. So his overwhelming love turned to hate as he snarled: 

"Fine."

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TBC…..I should hope. I know it's kind of short and a little undeveloped, but I'll post the next chapter, which brings the story to Sunnydale. If I don't get enough reviews by that time, I probably won't continue. Not to say that's a threat, lol. I just wanted to see if this kind of story would garner any interest. 

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	2. Chapter 1: Love's Lost Ones

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Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of BtVS or AtS.

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Rating: A high PG-13 here. Or probably not even, I'm just being cautious. 

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Pairing: Slight B/S angst in this chapter. 

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Feedback: Yes please! It's like a drug! And no matter what anyone says, it is probably the biggest driving force behind inspiration. The more reviews I get, the more ideas! You can also email me at Buggers267@aol.com

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Distribution: Only ask.

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Author's Note: To any readers of "Baby You Don't Even Know" or "Fortunate Son", sorry for the hold-up in updating, I'll try and churn out new chapters for each.

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Chapter 1: Love's Lost Ones

He had been traveling for a long time without respite. His whole body felt tired and haggard under the weight of the voices, whispering and trickling into his ears in a chaotic race. They tore his head apart and left him screaming silently in pain. 

And he was lonely. Despite the troops of people that constantly haunted and taunted him, he had no friend past self-loathing. He thought that when he had found the missing piece, he would suddenly fit. He would suddenly be worthy of love. If anything, it made him more unworthy. 

He hugged the sheets around his bare chest and rocked in the bed, dampening his pillow with frustrated tears. "I'm sorry . . ." he croaked. "God, I'm so sorry." He didn't even know who he was talking to. 

"Shhh." She shifted her weight in the bed beside him so that she was nestled into his back. Curling her arm around his shoulder, she smoothed his forehead comfortingly. "It's alright," she purred to him, stroking his bare arm lovingly. "I'm here with you."

He turned his tear-streaked face to her, drowning in the cascade of golden locks that framed her smile. "Are you really?" he asked, hesitating. 

She leaned down and kissed him. "Of course I am, shagwit." She admonished his fear by wrinkling her nose. 

A grin broke through the tears and he reached out to brush away her hair. "Shagwit?" he repeated, amused. 

"What can I say? You're a bad influence. You've got me 'buggering' up the yin-yang."

He laughed softly. "Yeah, well give us another 'snog', then."

She chuckled cattily and pressed another soft kiss to his lips, settling herself more comfortably in his arms. He moaned as she pressed herself closer to his chest, suddenly raising herself above him so that she was staring down at him. Looking deeply into his stormy pacific-blue eyes, she swept away the hair from her neck and lowered it near to him. He wavered. 

"What are you doing?"

She stared at him innocently. "What do you mean?"

"_That_ . . ." His voice was uncontrollably shaky. "Y-your . . . your neck."

She gave him uncharacteristically snarkish grin. "Yeah?" She bared it to him more grandly, bowing her head out of the way to display the smooth golden vessel. "Isn't it what you want?"

"N-no . . . _no_ . . . I don't want . . . I-I _can't_ want . . ."

She roughly straddled him and grabbed him by the hair, dragging him up to her. She pushed his face into the crook of her neck, laughing again, but with a hint of something that filled him with dread. 

"You know you want it."

He struggled to scramble out of her grasp, but the scent of her blood and her skin kept him chained. "No . . ." he pleaded. "Stop."

"Stop what? Stop what you've always dreamed of? You want it . . . _I _want it. Don't ever think that you're better than wanting this."

"Buffy, I love you----"

A guttural, menacingly laugh escaped her. "You don't know even know the word." She thrust him closer to her jugular. "Drink."

He hesitated, but gingerly inserted a fang, allowing a heady ruby-colored liquid to pool out onto his tongue.

"Yes," she hissed, closing her eyes and clinging onto him desperately.

His mind was screaming at him to stop, but he couldn't. He began to gulp in earnest now and blood streamed down her shoulder. 

"Drink," she chanted again and again, in rhythm to his voracious gulps. "_Drink, drink, drink, drink----"_

"Drink!" 

Spike jolted awake, gasping helplessly. He sat up and clutched the sheets around him to force himself out of the nightmare. Overcome with panicked breaths, he stared up at Buffy, who stood by his bedside, holding out a mug of blood with a frown. "I said here's your drink. Man, I leave you for a few minutes and another band of imaginary beasties come to plague you." She handed the mug to him indifferently. 

"I . . . I dreamt I was here . . . with you." He awkwardly glanced down at the bed strewn with sheets and Buffy timidly turned red in response. 

"The visions are getting pretty deceptive, aren't they?" she murmured quietly in response. 

He was still shaking. "More than that . . . I dreamt . . . I dreamt I bit you."

She unconsciously backed away with him. She paused for a long time, what seemed like an eternity to Spike, then said, "But it was just a dream."

Quivering, he nodded unconvincingly. "Just a dream."

Another pause, but he looked up at her with lost, fragile eyes. She didn't know what to do, so she began to walk out of the room. "I've got to go downstairs."

"Wait!" He stood up, wrapping a sheet around his slender frame. "Don't go. Please. I'm still shaky from the . . . can't you . . . just sit here with me?"

It was such a heartbreaking plea. Conflicted, she stared at him. "I . . . I need to get things ready."

He furrowed his brows. "Get things ready for what?"

"A houseguest is coming over and we have to get ready." She paled and motioned towards the bed guiltily. "Which reminds me, we have to move you down to the basement. We'll be needing the guestroom for him."

Spike glanced around the room confoundedly. "A guest? Him? What are you runnin', a boarding house?"

"He's a friend of a friend," she explained. "And I'm really sorry that it's a little cramped here, but this all happened on kind of a short notice----"

"You're apologizing?" Spike said abruptly, so brusquely that it almost alarmed her.

"Well . . . yeah. I know it kind of sucks to be stuck in a dank basement that has a tendency to flood come every Thursday. I just want everyone to be comfortable-----"

"I'm a vampire, Buffy," he stated bluntly. "Making me comfortable shouldn't be your main priority right now."

Pause again, thick silence once more. "Yeah well, Xander's helping me set up the sofa bed downstairs. You remember it. From Xander's own days as a basement dweller?"

Before, he would have made a face and a cutting comment about how he didn't want to wallow in the whelp's old filth, but now, he just nodded passively. "Sounds fine."

There was something so despondent in his smirkless tone that made her want to cry. "I know this is weird----"

"It's not. It's not weird at all. I . . . I should be thanking you for taking me in like this . . . into your home . . . into your _life._" He emphasized the last word with a glimmer of hope. 

It was too much to see him sitting there, staring up at her with such boyish love and adoration and expectation. So she curtly replied, "Yeah," and sped downstairs, leaving him alone once more. 

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"He wants to send who to the what-what?!"

Buffy sighed, shaking out the linen sheet. "Angel wants to send Conner here. His son."

Xander held his hands up dramatically. "First off, the whole 'Angel-having-a-son' thing? The question "How, in God's name, how" does not even _begin_ to cover it. And second of all, why is he sending him here? And to stay with you? He thinks he can go off, have a fate-defying kid and proceed to dump him in your lap? Rat Bastard, thy name is Angel."

She gave him a reprimanding frown. "It's not that bad," she replied. "Angel is having some . . . problems with Conner and thinks Sunnydale would be a better environment for him."

"Yeah but isn't that a little . . . irresponsible? Okay, so kids are difficult, but you don't abandon them every time they have a temper tantrum."

She wagged an eyebrow at him. "He's not a kid, Xander."

"Oh that's right. With his father being dead for more than a century and all, you'd figure his genetics would be a little messed. So what is he? Two-headed monster? Bat-winged fang boy?"

"Close. Try an eighteen-year old teenager."

This was beyond Xander's comprehension. He summed up his response to the situation in three words: "Great Galloping Garfinkal."

"Yeah, that was basically how I reacted when Angel called. But he explained everything, not to mention why he thinks Conner should come here, and I agreed and thought it was a good idea."

"Good idea? Buffy, the Macerena seems like a good idea compared to this. You've already got a colorful amount of people residing in your home, why add the son of your former lover into the mix?"

Buffy smoothed the sheet and tucked it into the sofa bed. She grew quiet and began to somberly pick at the printed purple heliotropes on the sheet. Spike once said heliotropes were his favorite flowers. He had talked about how his mother grew the prized flowers in their English garden long ago and had lavished more affection and attention on them then she had ever bestowed on her son. As a young boy, he often wished that he could be a heliotrope just to garner the same kind of consideration from his mother. When he repeated this to his father, he was severely beaten after being commanded, "No son of mine shall ever carry on such poofish tendencies." He loved the flowers nonetheless. 

When he told her the story, she had no patience for any reminiscing he had about his previous life. There was to be no speaking involved in their interaction, just aggressive violence and cathartic sex. But now she remembered. She remembered like never before. And it made her think of the way he had looked at her earlier in his bedroom, all broken and tired and loving at the same time. And it made her compassionate in a way she had been lacking. 

"Because he's lost, Xander. And I want to help find him." 

And she wasn't sure if she was talking about Spike or Conner, but she knew she meant it.

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TBC……Yes all your reviews did it! Thank you so much, I was surprised over how many people were interested in a Connor-centric fic. Well, it isn't Conner-centric in this chapter, I was thinking that I would alternate the Spike-Conner sub-plots with each chapter, but everything I'm writing thus far is coming straight out of my ass, so we'll see how it goes. 


	3. Chapter 2: New Home, Same Place

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Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of BtVS or AtS.

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Rating: PG-13

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Pairing: Conner/Cordelia undertones (or is it overtones?) in this one, but this is not a C/C fic (_yeuucch_ to ME for even introducing the idea). I'm just trying to stay true to the characters where ME left off. 

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Feedback: How many times can I say please? I appreciate those who have already given it; you're lovely! 

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Distribution: Only ask. Also soon to be archived at Rachel's site, www.darkprophecies.net/sinister

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Chapter 2: New Home, Same Place

He left, not with the roar they expected, but a silent scowl. It left them confounded and mystified. 

They were gathered at the bus depot, awkwardly sending him off. He glowered at them wordlessly and boarded the Greyhound. 

"I don't understand this at all," Fred whispered to Gunn as the bus waited to depart. "Why is he leaving?"

Gunn shook his head blankly. "My question is more like 'how?' I mean, this is _Conner_ we're talking about. Punk-ass kid who lied to the people who took care of him for months. Boy who dumped his daddy ten fathoms under. Didn't expect him to leave without a fight. He's getting exiled and doesn't even flinch that ticky staking hand of his."

"He's a good kid," Angel suddenly defended grimly. "This isn't about exile. This is for his own good." 

Wesley shrugged dubiously. "I understand that Angel, but Sunnydale? The universe's hot-spot for mystical convergence isn't exactly conducive to anyone's "own good"."

Angel sighed. "I know Sunnydale isn't very normal. Hell, there are mental institutions more normal than Sunnydale. But I know he'll be safe there. He'll be protected. Most of all, he'll be with people I _trust_." He stared intensely at Cordelia, who merely gazed at the ground with noticeable guilt.

Fred still frowned. "That doesn't explain why he's going. O-or like Gunn said, _how . . _. voluntarily."

"He's leaving because he's in love with me. That's why he's doing it. That's why he's not fighting for it. Because he knows I want him to leave." Cordy paled and her voice wavered uncontrollably. Angel clenched his teeth and said nothing. 

Fred, Wesley and Gunn all exchanged curious glances, but remained silent. Cordelia edged up to the bus and tapped on Conner's window. He glowered down at her, but finally opened it. 

"What?"

She held up a piece of paper. "Read it. It's a letter I wanted to give to you before you left. I know I'm a coward for not being able to say this to you face-to-face, but it's easier this way."

He took it from her, already knowing its contents. The paper seemed to sting his fingers to the quick. He put it into his pocket. When he looked down, she was holding out her hand. He was reluctant to take it, but he did. She was crying while she kissed his hand, pressing her lips to his skin. He felt like he would never be able to forget how soft her lips were. 

"I'm sorry," she murmured, pressing the hand to her face.

He wanted to yank his hand back hatefully to slap her or strangle her or grab her onto the bus so that they could ride away together. But he couldn't. He just let her grasp it, wetting it with her tears. "That's okay," was all he could say. 

She let him go and backed away, eyes filled with a mixture of regret, relief and guilt. His father took her place, approaching him. Conner let himself harden with loathing. 

"I love you," Angel said.

"I hate you," Conner replied coldly.

His father sighed. "I know you think you do. But you'll thank me one day, believe me. I'm doing this for you, so that you can have a good life. Son----"

With the last little word, he slammed the window closed roughly and turned away from them.

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He read it ten times over during the three-hour ride. At first, he took it out of his pocket with the intention of ripping it into a million pieces, but he read it instead. Almost compulsively, he read it three more times in succession before stuffing it back into his bag. He would wait awhile, then draw it back out, hesitate, put it back, take it out again, then read it. That was the pattern of the trip. Now, it was his eleventh time reading it, but he didn't feel any better about the words on the page. 

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Dear Conner,

I know there's nothing I can possibly say that will make you hate me any less. But I have to try. I have to make you understand why I'm not stopping you from leaving. Why I think it's better this way. 

I'm sorry for everything that has happened. I'm sorry for that night and I'm sorry for the consequences. I know now that I was wrong to encourage you that way. But I don't want you to think we made a mistake, Conner. Don't ever think that this is your fault. I was in pain and I was lost and I connected to you because you were in pain and lost too, probably in more ways than I can ever imagine. Plus, world ending. It always tends to do the wonky on your judgment. It was like the whole world stopped, and there was only us, and I didn't want to die in pain. I didn't want you to, either. But then real life happened again. And it made me realize that we don't have the luxury of thinking in easy black-and-white terms like that.

I love you Conner, but not in the way you want me to. Because when everything is said and done, I will always remember you as that beautiful baby I held in my arms only a short while ago. My heart breaks when I think of you giving your heart to me when I can't reciprocate. But at the same time I know that what you're feeling isn't real. I've always known and I was wrong not to set you straight. The fact is, you love the idea of me. You love me because I haven't lied to you or beaten you or let you down. Until now, that is. You love me because I've treated you like a human being. But that's no reason to fall in love. 

I want so many things for you. I do want you to find the girl who can give her heart to you fully. I want you to live the life you deserve, a life free from pain and ugliness. I want you to forget everything that has happened before and remember that you are a good person, a loving and compassionate young man. And I know you can only realize these things away from L.A. And when you do, you'll finally understand how much your father loves you. And how much you really love him. 

Lots of Love,

Cordy

He held it with a steady hand, but inside he was quaking with quiet fury and resentment. How dare she presume to know how he felt? How could she say that what he felt for her wasn't real? The parental attitude she assumed while telling him he didn't love her just made him rebelliously affirm that he _did._ He would love her until the day he died and nothing would change that. Not his father, not this Buffy, not Sunnydale, nothing. 

He crumpled up the sheet and threw it out the window. The brightly painted sign emblazoned with the message "Welcome to Sunnydale" sped past the window, but he stared blankly at it. He didn't care if he was welcome at all. 

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"Welcome!"

The skinny blonde girl held the door open with a plasticine smile. He looked her up and down suspiciously and concluded that she must have been The Buffy everyone was talking about. He was surprised with her. Here was the world-renowned slayer and she was as scrawny as Fred. She was pretty, though, in a generic way. She looked like many of the sunny, tanned waifs he had seen in Los Angeles. He wasn't that impressed. 

He considered his words carefully, never altering his frown. Standing awkwardly in the door, he shuffled about and finally replied with a, "Hey."

Buffy fidgeted about and looked a little lost as she gazed up at the lanky, brooding teen. Like father like son. "Well . . . umm . . . come in!" She rushed him through the door. 

He entered cautiously with light steps, as if he was entering a vampire's nest. He studied everything with a hunter's critical eye. The house was friendly and warm: a stark contrast to the Hyperion's massive roominess and cold, hotel halls. In the living room, four people stared at him with rabid interest, leaning forward as if they were gawking at a museum exhibit. 

"Hi!" A short-haired brunette piped up loudly.

"Hi!" A taller brunette echoed.

"Hi!" A redhead agreed.

"Hi!" A brown-haired man concluded. They all sounded rushed and forced somehow and Conner decided that Sunnydale residents were insane. 

Buffy gave an uneasy little laugh. "Okay so nothing will ever top that mind-blowing introduction, but I guess I should expound." She pointed at them respectively. "Conner, this is Anya, Dawn, Willow and Xander. Guys, this is Conner." They all opened their mouths to render a familiar response, but Buffy quickly cut in, "Yeah, I think we already covered the 'hi' business."

"Nice to meet you," Xander said, holding out his hand for a shake. Conner just glanced at it and glanced away. Brushed off, Xander made a miffed face at Willow. Nervous, Willow took initiative and put a friendly hand on Conner's shoulder. 

"Glad to have you here, Conner." She smiled a little falteringly and waggled her head, reminding him of Fred. In fact, they all seemed to be a variation on the same people. Xander had the same thick, domineering air of Gunn, Willow, the agitated brainniness of Fred, Buffy, the stoic, superior-like resolution of Angel. 

"Yes, I'm sure Buffy is ecstatic to house yet another other-worldly oddfellow in her humble abode whose mortgage is fast exceeding her income range," voiced Anya. She must have been the strange one, like Lorne.

Dawn approached him, holding up her hand, then bringing it down when she remembered he obviously didn't do that. "Ummm . . . hey. Didn't know you were staying here till a few hours ago since certain pain-in-the-ass sisters"-----Pointed glance at Buffy here----"Refuse to tell anybody anything _ever_." 

Conner inspected Dawn closely. She was clearly very attractive like her sister, but in a different way. He got the sense that she didn't fit as easily as the rest of these people. He didn't know what it was, but he didn't bother trying to figure it out. It was probably because she was just a kid among adults. 

"Where's my room?" he asked flatly, forgoing any response to the warm introductions. 

Buffy exchanged anxious looks with everyone and led him to the stairs. "Here, I'll show you."

He picked up his bag and followed her up the stairs and down the hall. On the way, Buffy bumped into a very blonde, skinny man coming out of a bedroom. He clearly jumped when making contact with Buffy. Buffy looked similarly on edge. 

"Oh, Spike . . . sorry. Umm, the . . . basement is ready for you." Conner noticed how thick the air became amongst the two, something chemical. He was a lot more perceptive than people thought. 

"Right . . . well." The hall was crowded, so touching her to get by was inevitable. Spike gave her a lingering look that she quickly blushed and shrugged out of. He rushed by, but was momentarily blocked by Conner, who scrutinized him carefully. He frowned and quickly galloped down the stairs. 

Conner stared after him and back at Buffy. She seemed restless and preoccupied. She opened the door quietly and he went into it without a word, throwing his bag carelessly onto the bed. She wavered by the door. 

"If you need anything, just call me from downstairs. I'll let you get adjusted to the room."

He didn't know what to say so he nodded, closing the door after her. Alone, he collapsed onto his full bed and gazed around at his new surroundings. And he thought about what they meant.

The house was warm and light, not like Hyperion at all, but one thing was the same. It was a house of secrets. He already knew what that was like. And though he didn't like it, at least he knew what he was in for. 

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TBC……. 


	4. Chapter 3: Discoveries

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Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of BtVS or AtS.

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Rating: PG-13

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Pairing: Not very shippy in this chapter. 

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Feedback: Yes, I'm extremely needy. 

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Author's Note: I know I wrote on my profile that "Baby You Don't Even Know" is on temporary hiatus, so please! Take note of the "temporary" part and don't freak out! New chapters will be up soon, not to worry. Also, since I'm writing this as a means of avoiding the business and chaos of Thanksgiving and relatives, allow me to now wish all you readers a happy holiday! Oh and another note: I'm good at characterizing Drusilla (I guess I just don't have that insane-type state of mind) so sorry if she's way OOC. But she's meant to be a little more cogent than usual, so whatever. And one more thing, I haven't had a chance to edit this thoroughly yet, excuse some slight errors. 

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Chapter 3: Discoveries

He didn't trust him. There was something dark and sharp and foreboding about him evocative of . . . who? He couldn't place his finger on it. But he could tell it was someone he didn't particularly like. 

He sighed and lounged back onto the droopy sofa bed, pulling the smoking fag out of his mouth. Immersed in the pillows, he sniffed the sheets carefully. Didn't reek of Harris. That was a good thing. 

He thought more about this kid. Why had Buffy brought him in? What was he doing here? He knew it wasn't his place to ask questions, but he _was_ living here now. If this new housemate was a homicidal, Mary Jane-smoking, drugged-up juvenile delinquent, he had a right to know, didn't he?

"What makes you think you have any rights?" A measured voice broke through the quiet of the basement and the whirring of the washing machine. He looked up, startled and gazed around the room. She stepped out of the shadows. He groaned when she smiled and threw her head back, sending raven-black hair sprawling across her thin shoulder. 

"You're not here," he growled. 

She laughed liltingly, sending shivers up his spine. "Aren't I? It'd make more sense for me to be here than you."

"You've _never_ made sense." 

"You're right. Never was one for a linear train of thought. But I always saw things, William. I've always seen things for what they really are. And I see what you really are."

She approached him and sat seated on the bed, bringing a deathly white hand to his forehead. It was deceptively soft, but he refused to lean into it. 

"Go away," he whispered futilely. 

"My poor, poor William," she murmured in a more recognizably childish manner. "What have they done to you? They've caged my pretty, pretty boy and thrown away the key."

He turned away from her. "I've done it to myself. You remember. You were there with me."

She nodded solemnly. "All those years, you were my golden boy. You were a free bird, soaring on the wings of your own imagination."

He snorted. "Imagination? Is that what they're calling callous murder and bloodshed nowadays?"

"It was what you were born to do."

He gazed vacuously into his hands. "Born to be a monster?"

She shook her head and cupped his face in your hands. "Ah, ah, ah, brooding does not suit my boy. I've already got a daddy for that."

He batted her hand away and spat hatefully. "Stop calling me your 'boy'. That's not what I am anymore."

She plumped her lower lip up, almost in a sad pout. "That's right. You're hers, now. The one she never wanted, but hers nonetheless."

He was too tired to argue. "She has nothing to do with this."

She chortled low and mockingly. "Oh my pet," she gasped through laughter. "She always does." She moved across the room, her long burgundy skirts swishing like the sound of the laundry. "Don't tell me that deep down, you aren't more than hopeful that your being here means something."

He was silent. 

"You think if you play the part of sad, sniveling dog, holed-up in the decaying heart of her basement, you'd win her back. That if you try to find the spark, the light, you could dance with her in the sun." Her face suddenly twisted into a scornful scowl. "You aren't worth her _dirt_. You belong in the darkness with me."

He ground his hands to his ears. "No."

She grabbed his hands loose and shouted in his ear. "Always in the darkness with me, William. Puppy can't run, can't hide. Might as well bite and bark the way he was meant to." She let her cold, lifeless lips trail down his neck. "May as well _kill._"

He got up with frustration. "That's it," he decided firmly. "It's been neat talking you, Halluco-Dru, but the fun's over. Retreat back into whatever insane recess of my mind you marched out of." He went upstairs to get a blood pack. 

He marched into the kitchen, shaking. It seemed like the voices and visions and people were with him all the time now. Only time they let him be was when the blood was filling the back of his throat. They never bothered him then because that's what they wanted. They demanded blood. 

Warily, he put the blood Buffy had brought home from the butcher into the microwave. It was hard being here. A year ago, he would have rejoiced at the opportunity to live in the same house with the slayer, waking up to smell her scent in the air every morning, but now he hated it. Being here and so close to her reminded him of what he was and what he had done---not only to her, but also to the millions of innocents throughout the years. It was like a prison of constant guilt and loathing. But he didn't have anywhere else to go. 

"I don't like him being here," he heard Xander say from the living room. He stopped and stiffened, aware that they were talking about him. He wanted to awkwardly withdraw back to the basement, but he didn't want to make a sound while doing it. He didn't want to listen and he didn't want them to _know_ he was listening. But at the same time, he couldn't help himself. So he stood silently with his ears perched. 

"I know it's a uncomfortable situation, but we all have to make sacrifices sometimes," Buffy replied. He stilled and wondered how she could feel that way. Why should she make the sacrifice for him? What had he ever done to her, except cause her pain? He shrunk at her compassion. 

"But why for him?" Xander said again, as if line with his own thoughts. "He doesn't exactly deserve the whole "getting by with a little help from his friends" riff."

"You don't know that!" Buffy objected, more hotly than he would have expected. 

"You said he was dangerous."

"That's what _they_ told me. But others told me different. There are always two sides to a story, Xander." 

Still listening from the kitchen, he wasn't following. Who were _they?_ And who were _others? _And why were they talking about him? This wasn't right. 

"How could we know if he was dangerous?" Willow softly interjected. "We don't even know him." Didn't even know him? He grew sad with this remark somehow. You spend five years attempting to kill and work together with people and they say they don't know you. Red, of all people should know him. He thought he learned a lot about her that one night they had spent together with Xander in the abandoned old factory. Of course that was a long time ago. He was different now . . . wasn't he?

"I don't want him here, either," Dawn stated grimly as well, and the words blunted him on the head. They could call him evil, depraved, sick and twisted, but one disparaging word from the Nibblet's mouth and he was crestfallen. He had never shown how deeply her hostile reaction to his being back affected him, but it did. He remembered how much she adored him and trusted him as a soulless monster. Now that he was repentant and sorry, she couldn't stand to be in the same room with him. It twisted his guts inside painfully. 

He heard Buffy sigh. "Dawn, you know this is complicated. We can't refuse to have him here. He's just a kid."

Hearing that, he almost breathed a sigh of relief. So they hadn't been talking about him after all. They were talking about that boy and . . . wait? Did they say dangerous?

"But he isn't 'just a kid', Buffy," Xander pointed. "He's _Angel's_ kid."

He had been taking the mug of blood out of the microwave when he heard that and promptly dropped it in response. He stared down at the spilled blood in shock, and then back up at Buffy, who had walked into the kitchen and stood in the door. She sighed at the broken mug and the blood on the floor before looking up at him.

"Spike. How much of that did you hear?" she said, beginning to pick the pieces of porcelain out of the blood. 

He swallowed hard and shook his head in disbelief. "Enough," he murmured. 

"So now you know. Conner is Angel's son."

He didn't say anything. The questions were too numerous to properly convey at the moment, so he just absently dipped his finger in some of the blood spilled on the counter and sucked it into his mouth. In less than a second, he had a young, fuming teenager on top of him, trapping him in between the fridge and a stake. He gazed up in confusion at Conner, whose eyes flickered with raging fire. He bore down the point of the stake into Spike's chest and yelled, "Vampire!"

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TBC…………… 


	5. Chapter 4: Revealed

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Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of BtVS or AtS.

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Rating: PG-13 for some language.

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Pairing: Hints of C/A, B/S in this chapter. 

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Feedback: Only one answer to this question: yes, god yes. Feedback = quicker updates. Yes, that's a THREAT! 

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Author's Note: I just wanted to note the whole Drusilla scene last chapter. I know it sounds like I'm belaboring over something that most other people took no notice of, but there was a point to her being OOC. I've noticed that in all this Morphy business, the people Spike has been seeing (at least in the show) have been more a voice of Spike's own guilt and fears rather than themselves. I wanted Drusilla to state directly what Spike secretly thinks without all of her usual craziness. Also, I have no tolerance for her craziness. Hence the somewhat lack of craziness. Just my little insecure-don't-take-criticism-very-gracefully-rant. Oh and one more thing (I like to cram a lot in my ANs as you can see): I've just started the sequel to "Fortunate Son" (I know, it's complete, isn't that the kick) called "Summer Sanctuary" and I've posted the first chapter up. Now on with the story!

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Chapter 4: Revealed

"Bloody hell!" Spike yelled, struggling against Conner's iron grip. Conner just clenched his teeth and let the stake break through his shirt as Spike began to groan in pain. 

"I could smell the blood," he growled darkly. "I could smell your hunger for it. You thought you could fool everyone about what you are?"

Spike glared at him through the hurt. "Well I'd venture to say _no_, followed by a resounding _duh_."

Buffy panicked and barreled for Conner. "Conner stop! Let go of him!"

He loosened his grip on Spike and stared at Buffy as if she had grown two heads. "But he's a vampire."

Buffy nodded, still on edge. "He's of the non-staking variety. So why don't you hand me the stake and back away from him?"

Astounded, he gazed at Buffy, then back at Spike. At the moment, he didn't look much like a vampire. He looked too tired to be predatory. So reluctantly, he let the stake clatter to the floor. This was unbelievable. This was just like L.A. People acted the same, lived with vampires just the same, it was too much.

Buffy heaved a sigh of relief and scrambled to grab the stake as a cautionary measure. Xander, Dawn, Anya and Willow filed in to observe all the uproar.

"What happened?" Dawn asked, immediately wary of the pool of blood on the floor and the stake in Buffy's hand. She quickly jumped to a conclusion and shot daggers at Spike. "Did he try to hurt you?" Spike gazed back at her sadly. 

"No." Buffy sighed and returned to cleaning the mess. "Spike didn't try to hurt me. It was all just a misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding?" Conner repeated incredulously. He pointed at Spike. "He's a vampire!"

Everyone stared at him blankly. "Ummm . . . we know," Xander said. No one was getting it. 

They were looking at him like _he_ was crazy. Helplessly, he flailed his hands. "Vampires _kill_ people!" 

"You're father's a vampire and he doesn't kill people," Anya pointed out. 

He grew dark and stony-faced. "That's different. My fathe-----_He_ has a soul."

"Well Spike has a soul too."

Conner gaped at the strangers with intense disbelief. This was bordering of ridiculous. He should have never come here. Not even for Cordelia. At the moment, he wasn't a noble, begrudgingly faithful lover, he was pissed-off and confused. He didn't expect to find out somuch about these people in only the first day, but he didn't think there was that much to _find out_. He had almost trusted his father when he said that these people were good and safe and _sane_. He could see now that it had been a big lie. What a mistake to let your undead, blood-sucking father judge what's sane.

"You're lying" was all he said. 

Buffy shook her head solemnly. "It's true. Spike umm . . . gained a soul a little while ago."

They never stopped. He widened his eyes. "_Gained?"_

Buffy sighed. "Okay, I can see this was a mistake. I was dumb to think we could take you in without giving you details about all of our backgrounds."

Xander nodded. "Yeah we forgot to give him the Hellmouth Primer. Scooby 101."

Conner just continued to look upon them blankly and Buffy sighed, leading him to the kitchen table to lay out the whole story. 

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He understood many things. He understood that Willow, although she looked quite harmless and book-wormy in the Fred-ish fashion, was in fact a recovering Wiccan junkie who once tried to end the world. He understood that Anya was an ex-ex-vengeance demon who was trying to regain her humanity. He understood that Dawn existed for years simply _non-existing_ as a mystical, glowy key to dimensions. Hell, he even understood Buffy dying two times. It's not like he had a world of normality back home to boast about. He'd seen worse in Quartoth. 

What he couldn't understand was Spike. Spike, this dark, sharp vampire that irkingly reminded him of his own father except for the bright blond hair. He couldn't understand what seemed like whole world's preoccupation with souled vampires. They weren't so great. They had killed a lot of people and then felt sorry for it. And they were accepted. And _he _was the one who was an outcast. Life never failed to be nonsensical. 

And to make it worse, Buffy cared about him. He could tell. He could tell as soon as he saw them together. It was obvious even now. The atmosphere returned to its palpable, concentrated state when they were in the same room. Why else would she want live with him?

He would never get it. In Quartoth, he was raised to believe that _all_ vampires were merely creatures of death and destruction, regardless of their intentions. They were just killers when you came right down to it. So what did these killers ever do to gain the love of beautiful women? He burned like a forest fire inside when thinking of his father with Cordelia. He hated this Spike just for reminding him of it. 

Spike looked up and saw the boy glowering at him with vague abhorrence. He squinted his eyes right back, but Conner didn't alter his steady glare. Buffy uneasily noted the exchange between the two and put a hand on Conner's shoulder. He still had his teeth clenched in Spike's direction. 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you all this sooner. I was just afraid that if we . . . told you all of this stuff, you would have left."

Without a word, he got up from the table and headed for the stairs. Everyone exchanged looks and Buffy followed him hurriedly. "Conner, what are you doing?"

"Leaving."

"No!" She grabbed his hand and he turned around indifferently. "You can't leave! Your father told me that I'm responsible for you and I have to live by that."

His lips tightened into a firm line. "I'm eighteen. I'm not a kid. I can take care of myself."

Spike caught Dawn looking at Conner with a new sense of admiration and sympathy. He inwardly groaned. Trust the Littl' Bit to fall for any punk pissant who played the independence card. 

"I don't care," Buffy replied a little harder. "Your father said---"

"Fuck my father!" he yelled and everyone widened their eyes, a little jarred. "He's practically not even my father! He's just a freak!"

If he wasn't in the same boat as the Poof, Spike would have added, "Hear, hear."

Buffy softened. "Conner, please. Give us a chance."

"Why should I?" he sneered.

She looked a little sad and pressed his arm quietly. "Because you have no one else."

He paused, uncertain and falteringly for a moment, but he continued walking up the stairs. The whole clan followed him in a massive group. 

"To be fair," Anya pointed out as they crammed into the tight hallway. "He _is_ of legal age. If he wants to carry on his surly, broody adolescent-y ways somewhere else, he should be able to. This is America."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Not helping, Anya."

He entered his room and picked up his knapsack immediately, stuffing the contents back in. Buffy looked on in dismay. 

"You don't want to do this."

"You don't _know_ me. You don't know what I want."

She sighed, resting against the doorframe. Like father like son indeed. He was just as stubborn as Angel. "Why do you want leave?" she murmured tiredly. 

He whipped her head up at her. "Why do you think? I don't live with vampires."

"You don't live with your father then?" Dawn asked innocently and she was rewarded with the same fierce stare. She fidgeted and he looked away. 

It suddenly occurred to Buffy how estranged Conner and Angel really were. Angel hadn't said very much about it in his phone calls, but that was because he _never_ said much. She could see now how much Conner was really hurting, despite his efforts to conceal it. And she felt for him even more. She didn't want him to leave. "Spike won't hurt you," she affirmed. Spike didn't comment. He probably wouldn't, but that's not to say he didn't have the impulse to at the moment. This kid had undeniable attitude. 

Conner snorted. "I'm not worried about that. I've staked my share of vampires."

"Well good. If Spike ever gets out of line, you know what to do." 

"Thanks for the assurance of safety," Spike cut in acerbically. 

He stood up again, leveling the bag on his shoulder. "I'm still leaving."

"But why? I'm afraid I'm going to need a reason if your father ever asks me." Buffy was just as resolute now. 

"Because . . . because . . ." He waved his hands as if it should have been painfully obvious. "Just because!"

"Uh-uh. If I have Angel on my case, I need a stronger defense. I don't want to have to deal with him unless I have to."

"Because . . ." he finally broke in hardness. "Because it's all the same." 

She frowned a little. "What's the same?"

"You. Him. Everyone. It's the same thing, just a different place. Secrets, vampires, I'm sick of it."

She softened. "Conner, it's not . . ."

"Right. From what I see, it is. Souled vampire, the girl who loves him"-----Buffy blushed uncontrollably here and Spike turned away----"Demons, monsters, slaying. How can you say it's not the same?"

Buffy was speechless. When he noted that she indeed had nothing to say, he shrugged on his knapsack. But before he could walk out of the room forever, Dawn approached him and put a soft hand on his arm to stop him. 

"Don't go," she said softly. 

Surprised, he furrowed his brows at her. He was obviously going to leave despite all Buffy's protestations, this girl thought she could just walk up to him, whisper "don't go" and he'd fall into line? "What?"

"I said don't go," she repeated more forcefully. "I mean, I didn't really know if you staying here would be cool but . . . it would . . . _suck_ if you left. You know." She shrugged. " . . . For _you_. You'd have nowhere to go and Sunnydale real estate doesn't exactly come cheap."

His eyes pierced into her. "I don't care. I'm going back to L.A."

"Yeah, but then what was the point of leaving?"

Squinting now. He didn't know what to say, so he just snarled lamely, "None of your business."

"Well umm, okay. But still, it's pretty obvious that L.A. was suckly too if you can't stay _here_ just because it reminds you so much of _there_. That's like . . . pentagonal reasoning."

"Circular," Buffy corrected, amazed with her sister. It looked like Dawn was getting to Conner where she herself couldn't.

"Whatever. Point is. L.A. sucks, Sunnydale sucks, everywhere sucks. Everywhere you go there are monsters and demons. So yeah, okay, this household isn't exactly the 2.5, picket white fence American Dream, but what is? And you haven't even been here for a full day to really know. How do you know it's any worse than L.A.?"

It was his turn to be silent. " . . . I don't."

"Yeah you don't. So why don't you stick around and find out? And hey, we're getting pizza tonight. Stay for some dinner, have a nice pizza pie. See if you want to leave in the morning. By the way, I hope you like anchovies. You don't, then you're left to muddle in a sea of deliciously smelly fishes yourself." She smiled impishly and waved her chestnut hair around. 

He stared at her. She was crazy. In a couple seconds, she had him so muddled that he had already forgotten about leaving. He just scratched his head, still scrutinizing her confoundedly. 

She smiled carefully, grabbing the bag that he was now limply holding, taking it away from him. Satisfied, she sighed with relief. "Stay," she repeated. 

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TBC…Didn't want to introduce the D/C so soon, but this is just a small smattering to satisfy my imagination. Don't expect the full ship to come immediately, I like taking things slow and drawing them out for tension.


	6. Chapter 5: About a Girl

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Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of BtVS or AtS.

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Rating: PG-13 for some language.

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Pairing: Hints of B/S, C/A, C/C in this chapter. 

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Feedback: Yes, god yes, before I am forced to resort to strong-arm tactics and a billy club. 

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Author's Note: Wanted to let all you guys know (although I shamelessly plugged it in last chapter's AN as well, I have the tendency to nag) but I have started my sequel to "Fortunate Son" which you may or may not have read before. If not, you can still check out the sequel called "Summer Sanctuary" (with lots of B/S goodness for those that like that kind of thing, and face it, who doesn't??). Please do, it would make me ever so grateful. Thanks!

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Chapter 5: About a Girl

A moment ago, she had told him she loved him. 

If he had been Galileo, unlocking the secrets to the universe or Michaelenglo, tormentedly carving his angel free from the stone in ecstasy, the magnitude of joy experienced would pale in comparison to what he was presently feeling. He was loved by the woman who was his savoir, his single drop of water in an endless sea of hot sand. It was too good to be true. 

"Tell me again."

She smiled lightly, her hazel eyes flickering with subdued amusement. "I love you, Spike."

He tried to repress the conflicting feelings of incredulity and screaming joy, but the words came tumbling out of his mouth. "How much do you love me?"

She laughed. "What do you want me say?" She held her arms out wide like a child. "_This _much."

The oncoming grin was spreading on his face and he leaned over to tickle her. "Trollop." His hands were inching all over her belly and sides. 

She squealed with laughter, only inciting him to tickle more. "Spike, s-stop!" she panted through giggles. 

"You love me," was all he could reply with. "You love me." The words were rich and filling and he had to repeat them just to make sure they wouldn't evaporate away forever. "You love me." 

Her body rumbled with delight, but his loving hands soon turned oppressive and smothering beyond control. Possessed, he repeated it again and she soon was squirming out of his grasp. 

"Spike, stop . . ." she told him, more insistently this time. 

"You love me."

"No, n-no . . . please . . . stop . . ."

"You love me."

"Spike, _stop!_" Her voice was rising in fear and finally culminated into a pleading shriek as they tumbled to the bathroom floor again. He was hard and snarling while she sobbed uncontrollably. She fought desperately against him as he groped her, trying to force himself into her heart. "_STOP!" _she screamed. 

The look of shattered trust and terror on her face was like a stake to his chest. Horrified, he stared at her frail, small form, shivering on the tile. And then it was his turn to scream. 

"NO!" 

A coarse nudge and he was shaking, salvaged and saved. He gasped and gripped the sheets around him for testament. He wasn't in the hated bathroom. He was here, sleeping amongst his purple heliotropes. He hadn't hurt her. Mustn't ever hurt the girl. 

Except he already had. 

He looked up at his savoir who had roused him awake, breaking the spell. Fiery brown-grayish eyes met his gaze. It was the boy, Conner. 

He glowered at Spike intensely. Still quivering, Spike scowled and affirmed brusquely with a shaky nod of the head, "Poof Jr."

Conner looked at him like he didn't understand and didn't respond. He threw a blood pack at him. "Buffy warmed it up for you."

Spike caught it before it went crashing into his chest. "Thanks." About to bear his fangs, he suddenly hesitated self-consciously. It was almost painful to do this in front of people and especially in front of _him_. So he paused and put the blood pack away. "I'll have a nip later."

He raised an eyebrow and waited for Conner to leave, but he stood there like a rock, staring at him intently. This kid just didn't get it. He didn't seem to comprehend the subtle nature of human interaction. He had an abnormal sense of oblivion to all things. He didn't care if he induced discomfort on nearly any person he encountered. He just muddled through a broody world of his own. Fed up, Spike finally pursed his lips and said gruffly, "Well . . . is there something you _want_?"

He continued to stare enigmatically, then finally spoke. "You dream," he stated, hard yet quiet. 

Spike furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "What?"

"You dream. That doesn't make any sense."

He didn't know what to say to this mixture of a question and a statement. "I'm a walking paradox, boy. 'Sense' doesn't have much bearing on the likes of me."

He just talked on like he hadn't heard him. "You're a vampire. You're dead. You don't need to sleep. When you do sleep, you're . . . still technically dead. So why can you dream?"

Spike shrugged. "Just a perk of being of the living deceased." He sighed and lit a Marlboro. "If you can call it a perk."

"So you all can do it?"

"What?"

"Dream. You all dream."

"Well yeah. Never thought about it before. Can do all the normal functions you lot can, barring breathing and ogling ourselves in the glass."

Conner paused. It was obvious that he had never considered vampires relative to humans before and the realization startled him. "I don't know much about vampires," he admitted. 

"That's evident. Didn't Da ever teach you the ways of unlife?"

He darkened and visibly drew within himself. "I said I don't know much. Never said I wanted to."

Spike sniffed lightly, adjusting in the sheets. "Right. So what's the Q and A for then?"

It seemed like it would take the might of gods to erase the scowl from Conner's face. "Nothing. I just think it's strange. You aren't humans. Yet you act like you are."

"Well we _are_ hybrids of demons and humans, you know. Hurt like humans, fear like humans, love like humans----"

"No," he interrupted firmly with the voice of death. "You don't love like us. You don't know how."

Spike studied him carefully. Peaches must have done a number on his kid. He would have expected any regular kid to harbor an unknowledgeable discrimination against vampires, but the _son_ of a vampire? 

Unable to control himself, Spike shook his head. "Man, your pops must have been a real tool towards you."

Surprised, Conner's eyes widened as he grew more sullen. Looking down at the floor and lost behind a scraggly head of hair, he snarled, "Who asked you?"

"No one, really. Just making an observation. And it wouldn't surprise me, neither. Peaches has been quite tool-like for awhile."

Curious, the boy looked up. "Peaches?"

"Angel. Your Daddy Dearest."

"You . . . you don't like him?"

Spike chuckled at the understatement. "Let's just say I'm not his biggest fan."

"Why?"

He lay back onto the sofa and sighed. "I could give you a ten-page list if you'd like, but I don't think it'd be helpful. You obviously don't have the chummiest father-son relationship, wouldn't like to be staked by the Poofter for exacerbating it."

"There's nothing you could say that would make it any worse."

Spike furrowed his brows. He normally never pried into anyone's business, but the curiosity was killing him. "What did Angel do to you, exactly? Why do you detest him so much? I mean, I know why _I_ hate them, but what about you?"

The bitterness in Conner's expression deepened. He appeared to be thinking very hard before he finally said, "Because . . . he's a vampire."

Spike snorted. "So you carry this much hostility about any random bumpy you stake?"

"I didn't say that . . ."

"You hate me 'cause I'm a vampire?"

Conner stared at him in confusion. "I . . . don't know you."

"Right, well. So how can you hate Angel for the same reason? I mean---"

"He killed my father," he suddenly cut in with razor-edged sharpness. 

Spike's eyebrows raised hastily. "Your 'father'? Well color me a shade of confused. I thought-----"

"Angel might be my father, but he's not my _real_ father."

Spike eyed him suspiciously. "Are you sure you weren't raised in a trailer park or somethin'?"

"After I was born, a vampire hunter named Holtz saved me from Angel----"

"Saved?"

He ignored him. "He saved me and took me to another dimension called Quartoth. He raised me there. He took care of me. We were a family."

"Let me guess. This vampire hunter had a deep-seated aversion towards your father."

"He killed his son, Stephen."

Shocked, Spike sat up quickly. "Angel? He killed someone with his soul? That's-----" He quickly faded off into silence when he remembered that he certainly wasn't the souled vampire model of discretion. He burned with guilt inside. 

"No. He killed him many years ago. When he was still Angelus."

"Oh. Well . . . I don't get it. That was a hundred years ago. How could this Holtz be alive to track him down?"

"Time travelling. It's this whole big thing."

He nodded. "Usually is. So wait. Holtz still held him responsible for the actions Angel committed without a soul?"

Conner looked him steadily with his eyebrows knitted. "It's called justice."

"Funny, you said _justice_, but it came out sounding so much like _vengeance_."

"He _killed_ Stephan!"

Spike sighed. "He's done a lot worse. Hell, I've . . ." Pause again. He couldn't bring himself to say it. So instead he just said, "But killing your father. Now that's something to gripe about."

Conner shrunk slightly. "Well . . . he didn't _really_ kill Holtz. He probably would have though."

Spike gave him a look. "You're quickly loosing steam here, Conner. Now I sympathize with you completely if you hated Peaches for no damn good reason, but you're telling me there _are_ reasons. Now what are they?"

He shifted awhile, but finally uttered it: "Cordelia."

"Cheerleader?"

He stared at Spike, confused. "Cordelia Chase," he clarified. 

"Yeah I know the broad. High-mantainence chick if I remember. What did she do to you?"

"She's the reason I left." His eyes told the story and Spike, astounded, whistled. 

"No. You a-and . . . no."

"He saw us together. He made me leave. He wanted her to himself." His voice was filled with venom and spite. 

"Let me get this straight. So Dad caught you playing footsy with teacher and what? Just told you to get gone? And so you left? You don't seem like a kid who'd take that kind of authority well."

"Well she wanted me to leave too." He said the words and they hung heavy in the air. 

"Oh." Spike didn't know what to say to that. "Well . . ."

"I think that's why I really hate him," Conner suddenly said, as if in revelation. "I hate him because . . . she chose him. She chose him over me."

Spike bit back an empathetic sneer. "Yeah. I can understand that."

"I would do anything for her. Anything she'd want. But all she wanted was . . . him."

"It's like it doesn't matter what you do, _he'll_ always be the bloody tape you'll be measured by," Spike sighed, lost in his own thoughts. 

"Yeah. And then he sent me away. They all made me feel like . . . like I was a freak. Like I didn't belong there. Like I belonged nowhere. Like I didn't deserve a home."

He had to stop empathizing with this kid. He kept doing that, he'd be just as surly. But it was hard _not_ to. "Well you left of your own accord. You left because she told you to. So why don't you hate _her_?"

He whipped his head up at Spike. His expression was one of innocence and devotion. "Because . . . I don't think I ever could. No matter how much she hurt me. I . . . just couldn't."

Spike took a long drag off his fag and sank back onto his back, contemplatively staring at the ceiling. "Yeah," he murmured with a tone of regret. "Yeah, I couldn't either."

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TBC……………………


	7. Chapter 6: Help

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Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of BtVS or AtS.

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Rating: PG-13 for some language.

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Pairing: Not too much shippiness in this chapter (though slight hints of D/C . . . you'll still have to wait a while for the full ship, folks!).

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Feedback: Please see author's note.

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Author's Note: I just wanted to say that although I appreciate every single review and comment I get, and though I take most of it as constructive criticism, I'm a little wary of the reviews that direct me how to go plot-wise. I appreciate all your comments if you think the story is seriously flawed, but telling me which ships to write is not very relevant. I stated in the summary of the story what the relationships were going to be, so I'm a little perturbed by people telling me to write otherwise. I have a clear direction and plan of how I want the story to go, so sorry to B/A shippers, but that ship will just not be addressed. Thank you all so much for your feedback nonetheless. 

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Chapter 6: Help

Conner ascended from the basement with a newfound sense of . . . well he wanted to say comfort, but that wasn't it. Lack of unease, perhaps? Whatever it was, his talk with Spike had calmed him down into a state where he didn't feel mind-numbing rage at the prospect of living with a creature of the undead. His conversation with the vampire was the longest one he had maintained with any one in the last few weeks, and it gave him a feeling of catharsis somehow. For once, there was a person who listened to what he said without casting him down as a rebellious freak. Maybe it was because they were both outcasts and freaks, maybe it was because Spike was far too tired to judge like everybody else or maybe it was because Conner found one other person in the world who hated his father just as much as he did. But it didn't matter what the thread that united them together was. What mattered was that they were kindred spirits now. Not 'let's be best pals' kindred spirits, but begrudging spirits nonetheless. 

Conner closed the basement door behind him and went to the fridge to get a glass of water when he heard them talking in the living room. 

"We've never dealt with something like this before."

"We don't know that."

"We don't know that?" he heard Xander ask incredulously. "Dawn said she saw your mother! Willow said she saw Cassie!"

A choked, shocked voice abruptly cut in. "You saw Cassie?"

"Dawnie, it wasn't real."

"Still, you didn't tell me! You saw my friend and you didn't tell me!"

"I didn't want to upset you. This whole thing is getting scary enough without me telling you about the various friendly-like forms this Morphy guy takes."

"I wrestled for hours with a dark spirit that was choking my mother's ghost right in this living room. Don't try and tell me what's scary."

"Dawn, you have to understand. Cassie wasn't real. It wasn't important. This thing could have taken any form it wanted if he knew it would effect us. He was pretending to be the ones we loved. He was trying to hurt us."

Dawn's voice grew so small that Conner had to reach to hear it. "So you think Mom wasn't real, then?"

A lengthy pause here. "I didn't say that. I don't know what that was."

"_That? _It was _real_, Buffy. _She_ was real. I could tell," Dawn insisted. 

"Dawnie --"

"No! You can't try and tell me it wasn't her. She wasn't some evil transmufiguring thingamajig. She was just Mom!" He could hear her voice break and it made something inside his chest stir. 

Buffy spoke gently. "This is what he wanted, Dawn. He wants to hurt us. Don't you see?"

At the sound of that, Conner strode quickly to the foyer and grabbed a stake that lay on a side table. His hand went for the knob, but like lightening, Buffy was by his side, blocking him from the exit. 

"What are you doing?" she asked firmly, her arms wrapped against the door.

He gave her a quizzical look and tried to lunge for the knob, but she wouldn't budge. He stepped back in confusion and said, "Out."

"Out where?"

Furrowing his brows at her, he mumbled hotly, "Let me go."

She shook her head. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Conner. Wouldn't want you to make a run for it again."

Widening his eyes, he understood. "I'm not running away. I just wanted to go out to --" He paused. How would she take it if he told her the real reason for his 'walk'? Would she be grateful? Or just suspicious, the way she had been this whole time?

Waiting, she cocked an eyebrow at him. "Well?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "I just wanted to go to . . ." He sighed and broke. As the rest of Scoobies began to file into the foyer, he said it. "I wanted to help you."

She gaped at him, confounded. "What?"

"You know . . . with that thing you were talking about. The one that was hurting everybody. I was going to hunt it down for you. Make sure it wouldn't hurt anyone anymore."

Buffy marveled at his abrupt innocence. Underneath the defiant exterior, there was a boy who wanted only to help people. He had the simple, ardent desire to end all their pain and he thought he could do it by merely going out and hunting whatever was hurting them until it was dead. She wished that she could be as naïve as he, still untouched by years of jaded slaying. Softly, she murmured, "Oh Conner . . . that's . . . that's nice of you, but . . . this thing we're looking for . . . it's not the kind you can just go out and easily kill."

He gave her a look signifying that this idea was incomprehensible to him. "What kind is it, then?"

"That's the thing. We don't know. Until we do, we have nothing to fight against."

He gripped his stake tightly until his knuckles whitened. "There's always something to fight against."

She shook her head. "No. Not now. Not until we research this further."

He reached for the door again. "You research. I hunt."

She pulled him away from the door. "You don't understand. This thing we're dealing with, it's bigger than you can imagine. 'From Beneath You, It Devours'. You think that just because you've made the resolution to kill something, you can go out and do it?"

He shrugged. "Ten out of ten times, it works."

Xander nodded approvingly. "Gotta say, like those odds."

"Maybe those odds worked in L.A., but you're in Sunnydale now, Conner. We're living over a Hellmouth that's as safe as Alcatraz. You have a whole new set of guidelines and rules here. I just can't have you going out anytime you want."

He set his teeth on edge. "_Rules_?" He didn't like the sound of that. "I don't live by a set of guidelines or rules."

She gave him an authoritative and leveled stare. "Now you do."

"You don't _get it_," he retorted sharply, his voice rising in anger. "I'm the son of two vampires. I'm probably just as strong as you are. I don't need to follow any stupid rules you give me. I make my own."

She was growing impatient. "Conner, you live under my roof. Whether you can guard yourself against beasties is your own business. But when you live in my house, you live by my rules." She internally winced when she realized how mom-ish she sounded. But that was the way it had to be. "It's the same for everyone here. Dawn will tell you."

Dawn nodded affirmatively. "It's a fascist regime."

He still had his eyes fixed angrily on Buffy. "It's different. She's just a kid."

Offended, Dawn straightened self-righteously. "I am _not_ just a kid!" she protested. 

"This is about keeping you safe. I know you're not a kid --"

"Then stop treating me like one!"

And back to the yelling. Honestly, this kid could go from hot to cold at any minute. Buffy sighed with frustration. "You don't understand. This is about being careful. I would tell Anya or Willow or Xander the same thing."

He looked on the rest with faint disdain. "That's because they can't protect themselves. I can."

Xander frowned. "Umm hey, we're all highly capable here. I defeated a bomb-toting zombie and made sure he didn't blow up the high school. Before we could, anyway."

Willow raised her hand as well. "Yeah, and I nearly burned the world and everyone in it asunder."

Anya had her hand waving too. "Yeah, and when I was a vengeance demon, I _totally_ kicked Buffy's ass."

Dawn cut in obstinately, "And I am _not_ a kid!" 

Conner stared at them blankly before turning back to Buffy. "Get out of the way," he stated firmly. 

"How many ways do I have to say _no_, Conner?"

Ignoring her, he suddenly lunged towards the door and roughly pushed her aside, almost forgetting his own strength. Taken aback by his powerful shove, Buffy whirled backwards and slammed into the wall. Shocked, she scrambled to him, grappling him away from the door. When he accidentally shoved an elbow in her eye that sent her stumbling back, she sprang up, instinctively grabbing his arm before he could run and punching him hard in the face. The mighty blow nearly swept him off his feet and he crumpled onto the foot of the staircase. With his lower lip split open, he touched his bloody mouth, astounded, then stared up at Buffy, white and shaken by her own actions. 

"That's one way you haven't tried," Anya noted calmly. 

Conner still had his dark, fiery eyes fixed on Buffy who was too penitent and guilty to speak. "Oh my god," she murmured. "Conner, I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to --" She rushed towards him to help him up, but he backed away from her with speed. 

"Don't _touch_ me," he spat, half-scared, half-hatefully. Still smearing the blood across his fingers, he squinted at her hard. This was what he got for trying to help? Shaking his head, he muttered in a hushed voice, "It's the same. You're all the same."

"Conner, wait. Please, I'm sorry --"

"Go to hell," was his response before he turned away from all of them, marching up the stairs and off to his room. 

He shut and locked the door with a thunderous slam, clenching his teeth, fighting hot, angry tears that crept into his eyes. He hadn't cried for a long time and he certainly wasn't going to cry over this. He was a fighter, a hunter, a man and a loner. He didn't get hurt and upset over people who didn't want or like him. 

He should be used to this. He should have learned from the first time. You could trust no one. People could say they were your family, that they cared, but when it came down to it, they would always and without fail stab you in the back. It was the one irrefutable lesson he had learned since he first entered this dimension. 

Still . . . he thought it could be different. Different town, different people. Resting his forehead wearily against the wall, he closed his eyes tightly and willed himself to harden again, to put up the fronts and defenses he was used to. A sudden, timid knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, but he just gritted his teeth and shook his head. 

"Go away," he snapped harshly. 

"Sorry, but no. I'm just as stubborn as my sister and twice as persistent. So you better just save us both time and let me in."

It was the kid, Dawn. He sighed with annoyance, but realized that she was serious, so he unlocked the door and left it open for her indifferently. "What do you want?"

She shrugged. "Buffy told me to go up and check on you." She held up cotton balls and band-aids. "I come to aid the wounded."

Darkly, he grabbed the box of bandages and cotton away from her. "I can take care of it myself," he grumbled, covering up his lip self-consciously. 

Surprised at his gruffness, she still nodded. "Umm, okay. Well . . ." Awkwardly, she stood fidgeting in the doorway, aware of his obvious desire to be alone. Suddenly, she grew gentle and sighed. "Sorry for my sister down there. She really didn't mean it. It's just that the Slayer gene kicks in when she's stressed. She feels terrible about that." She began to turn away and walk towards her own bedroom, but Conner, guilty and softened by her amiable apology, murmured a brusque, 

"Hey."

Turning around again, she eyed him casually. "Yeah?"

He paused, not really knowing what to say. Thinking for a moment, he finally said, "I'm sorry too. You know . . . for calling you a kid."

"Oh." She nodded in a way to imply that she had forgotten about it already. "That. Don't worry about it. I get it a lot. Don't really know why, I'm the same age Buffy was when she was called as the Slayer, but no, to everyone I'll just be 'Little Dawnie' . . ." She sighed when she realized her mouth was carrying her further then intended. "It's okay. Really." She squinted at him curiously. "But hey . . . why did you want to get out so badly? What was the big deal? Usually I understand if you have your normal case of cabin fever, but there's a serious baddie out there. You have to be careful."

Uneasily, he shrugged, eyebrows knitted tightly. "I don't know. I just . . . I wanted to help."

"Help?"

He sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I wanted to help. And this is what I get." He tugged his lip morosely. 

Softening, Dawn frowned with sudden sympathy. "Oh. But . . . but there are other ways to help, you know."

"No, I don't know. This is what I'm good for. This is what I do. I hunt. It's a part of my life. It's the only way I know how to do things."

Dawn's eyes lit up with understanding. "Oh, I see what's going on. I know what this is about."

He whipped his head up at her scornfully. "You do?"

"Yeah I do. This isn't just about not being able to get out and stuff. It's about you not being able to get your regular adolescent, male, violent jollies off."

"What?"

"Yeah, I totally get it. In that other dimension you were in and in L.A., whenever you felt antsy, you just went out and killed a bunch of demons. But you can't do that here. So it ticks you."

He gaped at her and her simplistic assessment of him. "You think _that's_ my problem?"

"Well, sure. It's totally normal. Every guy your age needs to get out his aggressions one way or another. You've just developed a more _Highlander_ approach to the whole thing. What you need to do is to channel your impulses in a . . . typical-er way."

He cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at her. "You're telling me what to do?"

She tilted her head impatiently. "Conner, are you going to tell me that you don't get all bottled up and pissed if you aren't able to slay a demon a day?"

He opened his mouth to refute her claim, then realized he could not. "I . . . that's not the point."

"Coulda fooled me. Hey, wait here." She abruptly disappeared into her room, leaving him confused and baffled by his own door. She returned, holding a strange looking black box and remote control-looking devices. With a triumphant smile, she handed the pile to him. "This should solve your problem."

He gazed down at the heavy machine in his arms. "What is all this?"

"A Playstation. Complete with GTA3."

He stared at her like she was of foreign, unearthly being. "GTA3?"

"Grand Theft Auto 3. It's a video game. The universal way teenage males get through life without killing people. The ultimate violent diversion. Enjoy."

She walked away and Conner stood astounded, studying his new gift. And though it didn't give him further insight and assurance that he'd be accepted here, he felt comforted somehow. The girl was strange and unlike anyone he'd met before. But she had given him a small seed of comfort, and though he'd like to take it from granted, he couldn't. Maybe along with Spike, she was someone else in this house that he could . . . relate to. Not trust, he wasn't ready for that. But perhaps he could relate to Dawn. Maybe, after a while, they could even be friends. Maybe.

Staring after her, a tiny smile broke across his face before he went back into his room and shut the door. 

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TBC………Sorry for the wait! I've been busy over the holidays, but I hope you enjoy the update. Thanks for still reading!


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